


Breaks, O my heart’s blood, like a heart and hill

by middlemarch



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Doctors & Physicians, F/M, Poetry, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: It had been a very long time since he'd thought to win someone over.





	Breaks, O my heart’s blood, like a heart and hill

“Levator scapulae, rhomboid major,” he said, tracing a finger along Vivian’s back. It was warmer than he liked in the hotel room, but it meant she was comfortable with the sheet barely covering her. She had not shivered except for the first time he’d kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. He’d looked up to see those dark eyes regarding him with an expression he couldn’t parse so he’d closed his own eyes and gone back to tasting her.

“You can’t think that’s a turn-on. Gareth?” she said, turning her head so he saw how delicately she’d raised one eyebrow. Her unbound hair made a curious design across her cheek and over her shoulder; he could hardly recall the chignon he only ever known before she took the pins out with her back against the hotel room’s door. He paused in his recitation.

“No?”

“Not unless you intend us to role-play two first year medical students at a decent state school in the Midwest,” she replied, arching into his touch; he had not stopped stroking her and if he didn’t say the words aloud, he could still marvel at how lovely she was and how quick. He’d not paid all that much attention to the first when they were working the case, except to register her general appeal. Now though, having made some acquaintance of her acuity and skill, he could appreciate just how perfectly suited her form was to her mind. How much he wanted both—and hadn’t known he would. That he still possessed such…appetites.

“You prefer something else? ‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,’” he said, drawing his hand up along her side, grazing her full breast.

“Bit trite, no? Beautiful, of course, but obvious,” Vivian said shifting to face him. There were shadows between them and beneath her eyes; he thought he wanted to see her in candlelight and in the moonlight that he remembered in Aberaeron.

“‘We lying by seasand, watching yellow/ And the grave sea, mock who deride/ Who follow the red rivers, hollow/ Alcove of words out of cicada shade,” he said, letting the words come to him slowly, speaking them slowly and watching how her lips parted. His hand was at her hip and hers was on his forearm, that same surgeon’s hand that so cleverly held a scalpel, a curved suture. 

“Who is it?” she asked. _Me_ , he wanted to say, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. Not now. Not yet. 

“Dylan Thomas,” he said. He opened his mouth to say something else but she kissed him then, very suddenly and intently, as if she had never kissed him before. As if it was their last kiss before he left forever. It was neither, so he simply enjoyed it and the way she touched him, pressing him down into the linens.

“Finish it,” she said, breaking off the kiss but keeping her face quite close to his. There was no other color in her eyes than darkness, no parallel he could draw. “If you can,” she added, dipping back to lick his lower lip, nipping him before she paused.

“‘For in this yellow grave--’” he began, stopped by her mouth, the slide of her hair against his bare chest. He was breathless when she slowed down and she laughed as he panted, straining for the next word. 

“Come on, Gareth, don’t disappoint me,” she said, in the low tone that was just above a whisper. He searched for the next phrase, for the flare of her hip that fit in his hand. She sighed and he succeeded.

“…of sand and sea/ A calling for color calls with the wind.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift-fic for a friend from Tumblr, who wanted an NC-17 drabble about Gareth Mallory and an Asian-American female surgeon general who solve cases and then engage in...relations. Or maybe not in that order, but that's the order I went with. Gareth tried to quote Keats "Ode to Autumn" before he gets shot down. The title is from "We Lying by Seasand" by Dylan Thomas and Aberaeron is in Wales. This didn't quite hit NC-17, but there are intimations.
> 
> My head-canon is that our female lead is Dr. Vivian Liu, an Ivy-League educated general surgeon with PhD and expertise in forensics. I think they must be at The Savoy-- unless they're at Claridge's.


End file.
